Harry Potter and the Mistaken Prophecy
by BatDan
Summary: What if the prophecy predicting Harry Potter defeating Voldemort had failed and another had taken his place? This story explores this possibility and tells the story of Harry's journey through Hogwarts education.


**Disclaimer: I do not own any characters associated with the Harry Potter universe, there are the property of J.K. Rowling**

**Quick word from the author: Hello readers ! This story actually came from an idea that J.K. suggests in the Order of the Phoenix, and I think it's an interesting notion, so I started writing about it and it sort of grew from there. So I hope you like it and please do not hesitate to rate, review, follow, favourite, etc, etc.. Enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter 1: A long expected birthday**

Harry Potter awoke to the sound of a woman's voice calling him. He roused himself after what had been a rather pleasant dream. He sat up and picked his round-framed glasses up off his bedside table and put them on his nose. Surveying the bedroom, his eyes fell upon the large mirror on the wall and studied himself. His jet-black hair was stood up in all directions as usual, even more so due to the fact he had just woken up; just below his hairline, his emerald green eyes sparkled from his rubbing them as he woke up. He huffed a little as he realised he was still as skinny as ever and his pyjamas were rather large for his eleven-year old body. Then, as this thought crossed his mind he gasped, realizing what today was, he jumped out of bed, barely able to contain his excitement. After pulling on a dressing gown over his pyjamas, he ran out of his room and down the stairs.

* * *

"Has the post come?" He asked eagerly as he bounded into the living room to find his father sat at the table in the adjoined dining room. James Potter didn't look up from the _Daily Prophet _newspaper he was reading and merely gestured to the coffee table by the red sofa Harry was stood next to. Upon it rested a single letter, in an envelope of old parchment. Harry immediately snatched it up, he had dreamed of this moment for years. He took a minute to study the envelope turning it over in his hands. In scarlet ink were written the words _Harry James Potter, 25 Church Lane, Godric's Hollow;_ and on the front was a red wax seal bearing a coat of arms. Upon closer inspection, Harry noticed that the coat of arms was divided into four, and in each section was a different animal: a lion, a raven, a badger and a serpent; below which were written the words _Draco dormiens nunquam titillandus._ No longer able to restrain himself, Harry ripped open the envelope and fished out the parchment letter from within. Unfolding the piece of rough, coarse paper he read:

_Mr Potter,_

_As you are surely aware, most eleven year olds from wizarding families receive on the day of their eleventh birthday their letter of acceptance to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. However, in your particular case, it has been brought to the attention of the board of directors and the headmaster that your magical power is simply too small to be able to mould any form of conceivable wizardry and therefore, cannot offer you a place at our school._

_We understand that this must come as a shock to both yourself and your family, but the headmaster was adamant that bringing you into a class of spellcraft would only expose you to mockery from your classmates. Not wanting you to feel that you are being left out however, we have decided to give you the opportunity to train as our caretaker's apprentice. Mr Argus Filch will expect your owl and you will take the train to Hogwarts on September the first as will the rest of the students._

_My deepest and heartfelt apologies,_

_Minerva McGonagall_

_Deputy Headmistress_

* * *

Harry's heart sank and he felt the grin he had been wearing melt off his face. What did this mean? He wasn't allowed to go to Hogwarts, at least not to become a wizard. He would watch young wizards come and go and he would be there only to sweep the corridors, clean the toilets and perform other labours that the caretaker would usually take care of. He didn't understand. He had performed accidental magic like any underage wizard does before receiving his wand: once, when he fell from his father's broom that he had stopped still in the air, his head inches from the ground, had spun around and landed on his feet. And one other time, after his Dad had made him jump by pulling a cloak over his head and pretending to be You-Know-Who, he had made the cloak catch fire, and singed James' eyebrows in a bad way. Then it dawned on him, and turned to stare at his father. The man sat at the table was quivering from silent laughter, his face hidden behind the newspaper. As Harry understood what was going on, he started shouting at his father who, caught out, burst out with laughter and doubled up. Harry pouted; once again he had been had by his Dad. But as James fell off his chair and started rolling around, the young boy couldn't help but giggle and, as James' fit didn't subside, he started howling like his father. Wondering what was going on Lily Potter walked in from the kitchen.

"What's so funny?" she asked the pair who were now both either on the floor or doubled up from laughing so hard. It took them a good minute to calm down and, even then, tears were streaming from behind James' glasses so he had to take them off and wipe his hazel eyes.

"Harry just thought he'd been refused to study at Hogwarts and he'd have to work as Filch's apprentice." James replied, pushing his glasses back up his nose and still grinning broadly. "Happy birthday by the way, mate."

His wife rolled his eyes as she realised James had made a joke at his son's expense. "That's not something you should do to your son on his birthday." She scolded. "Why don't you give him the real letter now?" As she said this, she raised an auburn eyebrow till it was lost in her red hair, instantly calming James down. He gave in and, pouting almost as much as Harry had, he pulled out two folded pieces of parchment from his pocket and handed it to the dark-haired boy.

* * *

Snatching the letter from his father's hand, Harry hurriedly unfolded it and was relieved to read, not a letter of apology, but a letter of acceptance that read:

_HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY_

_Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore_

_(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,_

_Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)_

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment._

_Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall_

_Deputy Headmistress_

* * *

Breathing out a sigh of relief, Harry folded the first letter and quickly read the list of equipment he would need for his first year at Hogwarts giving out a groan of disappointment as he finished it. He wouldn't be allowed to take a flying broom to school and play Quidditch, the most popular sport in the wizarding world, which was one of the things he was most looking forward to. He would have to wait till his second year to be able to try out for seeker, the position he always wanted to play ever since he heard his parents talk about when James used to play the same position for the Gryffindor team when he was at school. He decided not to let this minor detail dampen his mood.

"When can I open my presents, Mum?" he asked, looking up to see his parents watching him, both smiling. "What?" he demanded.

"Oh nothing," said James. "We're just really proud." He finished with a grin.

"That we are," cooed Lily, swooping down on Harry and giving him a tight hug. "And you can wait for everyone to arrive before opening your presents."

* * *

Harry huffed at having to wait while attempting to extract himself from his mother's arms. She always did this when he did something right, and today was a big day, and her flaming red hair always tickled his face when she hugged him, which was very unpleasant. He finally managed to wriggle free before, on his parents' command, ran upstairs to his room to get washed and ready before _everyone_ arrived. _Who is everyone? _Harry mused as he pulled off his pyjamas, and grabbing his favourite _KEEP CALM AND CATCH THE SNITCH_ t-shirt, he realised his parents couldn't just have a normal, small get-together for his eleventh birthday. No, they had to go all out and invite everyone they knew! The only solace Harry could find was that at least it meant he would see his best friend. The two young wizards-to-be had known each other as far as Harry could remember and would be going to Hogwarts the same year, something they were both looking forward to a lot. After he finished getting dressed, he ran out of his bedroom and back down the stairs, jumping the last four as he usually did.

* * *

As he burst through the living room door, he was knocked to the ground by a big, black blur. Winded, he struggled to throw the great, shaggy mass off of him, realising his face was getting wet. "Sirius!" he spluttered, trying to escape from underneath the huge dog that was licking him all over. Finally managing to grab hold of it, he threw the dog to the side and scrambled to his feet; in the place of the dog was a slim, handsome man in his thirties with long dark hair and striking grey eyes. Harry rolled his eyes as Sirius Black started laughing a dry, wheezy chuckle that sounded uncannily like a dog. The pair got to their feet and the darkly man pulled Harry into a tight embrace, wishing him a happy birthday; it was then that Harry noticed there were other people in the room that hadn't been there when he had gone upstairs. His eyes swept the room and he noticed Remus Lupin, another of the Marauders, James' gang of friends from when he was at school; in his characteristically shaggy robes. Despite his mother and father's best efforts, he wouldn't accept any money from them to pay for new clothes: they had even offered to let him live in their home, for free, but he wouldn't have it. Harry knew the young, dishevelled man couldn't get a job that he could hold down for very long; there was some sort of medical reason for this, but Harry didn't know what that was: every time he had brought it up, his parents had quickly changed the subject and Remus just looked uncomfortable.

It had been a while since Harry had seen all the marauders together, all the remaining ones still alive that is: Peter Pettigrew, or Wormtail as he was known to the clique, had been killed by Lord Voldemort, though most wizards daren't speak his name earning him the title He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. He had been the most powerful dark wizard ever known and there had even been a war between his forces and the Ministry of Magic, the wizarding government; that stared before Harry was born and ended when he was a baby. However, the dark wizard had mysteriously disappeared after attacking a baby boy, of the same age as Harry, though the boy's parents had not survived. This miraculous event had earned the infant the name _The Boy Who Lived_ due to his surviving the attack by the Dark Lord. Most wizards would say that Voldemort had died after the curse rebounded off the young one; after this, his followers scattered, some were captured and imprisoned in Azkaban, the prison where the worst criminals of the wizarding world were kept, while others were able to return to wizarding society undetected.

Harry's train of thought was abruptly interrupted when the empty brick fireplace erupted into emerald green flames, the characteristic sign of someone travelling by floo powder: a magical powder connecting wizarding fireplaces and allowing travel between them; and an elderly man with a hunched back and a very nearly bald head stepped out of it. Straightening as much as he could manage, and flattening the few wisps of white hair still perched atop his crown that had been ruffled by the floo process, he looked around the room and nodded in turn at Sirius and Remus, shook Lily and James' hands, and then clapped Harry on the shoulder crying a loud "Happy Birthday!" through a grin that showed several missing teeth. Though Harry was happy to see the old man, he peered round him to see the other person, the one he'd been looking forward to seeing just emerging from the green fire. A large, dark haired boy fell to the floor, spreading soot all over the living room carpet. His round face reddened and he apologised repeatedly for the mess as he picked himself awkwardly up off the floor but James waved away his apologies while laughing. Pulling out her wand, Lily waved it at the ground and muttered an incantation under her breath, making the soot vanish from the floor and smiled kindly at the boy. Harry ran forward and clapped Neville Longbottom, the Boy Who Lived and his best friend, on the shoulder and grinned at him. The other boy smiled back and, muttering a shy birthday wish to his mate, he flattened his hair over the lightning bolt shaped scar on his forehead – the place where the curse that should have killed him had hit.

He asked permission from his uncle Algie and upon his acceptance, Neville ran out to the garden with Harry to play with dungbombs and stink-pellets. Their favourite games were throwing them to each other, and seeing when they would burst - much like egg tossing only, instead of egg yolk, you would get troll excrement or a foul smelling smoke all over your hands – or a game a lot like skeet shooting, where one would throw a dungbomb high in the air and the other would throw a stone at it, trying to pop it open and rain down the abominations on the garden. The pair chatted livelily about Hogwarts and the year they were going to go through together; and Neville, whose birthday had been a few days before Harry's, showed him the wand he had been given by his great-uncle Algie: eleven inches, made of holly and with a phoenix feather core. The pride he showed on owning such a thing was a rare display by the round-faced boy: something which was not lost on Harry: his parents had always encouraged him to look out for Neville and try to help him overcome his lack of self-confidence. Harry of course did not need to be told to look out for his best friend, but he couldn't help but marvel at Neville's low opinion of himself: if he, Harry, had been the Boy Who Lived or the one who vanquished the evil Lord Voldemort as a baby, his head would probably be the size of a large garden shed.

After about an hour during which the adults spoke of something "that doesn't concern children", Lily called out to the two boys, asking them to come back inside. As they entered the living room, Harry's eyes went wide when he saw the large pile of presents on the dining table making Sirius bark with laughter and Lupin chuckle mildly. Harry's face broke into a wide grin as he ran towards the presents, with Neville at his heels; he grabbed one and was about to start ripping off the wrapping paper when the parcel flew from his hands and into his mothers who had a stern look on her face and her wand in one. She scolded him for being rude, making him hang his head and the other adults snigger. He then asked permission to open his presents, and after receiving his mother's approval, he tore into one, revealing a handsome tome entitled Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them from Sirius. Going through the gifts, he unwrapped a new Nimbus 2000 broomstick from his parents, a pair of tattered – obviously second-hand, though he thanked him the same as the others – dragon skin gloves from Remus, a snitch shaped locket from Neville and Algie. He opened others from his parents along with the promise of a trip to Diagon Alley to pick up a new wand; he rejoiced at this because he felt increasingly jealous of Neville's new wand and wanted one himself: without a wand, he still wasn't really a wizard.

* * *

The party went on for a while, during which a magnificent cake in the image of the Hogwarts crest was brought in from the kitchen. When asked if she had made it, Lily blushed and muttered that hers had been a disaster and had been constrained to slip out and pick one up from a bakery in Diagon Alley. But it was a rather full, content bunch of people that left the Potters' later that evening. Despite Harry's begging for Neville to stay the night, Algie said they would have to decline after exchanging a meaningful look with James and a small, barely audible sniffle from Lily. Harry's protests were ignored and the two Longbottoms left the same way they had come, through the fireplace. After a small tantrum characteristic of an eleven year old who didn't get what he wanted, Harry was unceremoniously sent to his room where he sat on his bed, arms and legs crossed and pouted thinking that at Hogwarts he'll be able to go to bed when he wanted and would probably be in the same house as Neville, Gryffindor, so would be able to have his best mate in the same dormitory and it would be a blast. He wasn't expecting his father to enter half an hour later, with a look of mixed sympathy and graveness on his face; who sat down on his bed and started staring into space. When he started speaking, it was in a soft voice, so uncharacteristic of the usually jovial, joking man that Harry's anger instantly evaporated:

"Son, I know that you wanted Neville to stay here tonight, but there is something you must understand. During the war against You-Know-Who when his parents died, we were all very close. So seeing Neville on the day of your birthday can make your Mum rather sad, thinking about everything the young lad's been through. There are other things we can't tell you yet until you're older, I hope you understand." James said softly, his hazel eyes boring into his son's emerald green ones, as if he were trying to tell him through his thoughts. Harry merely swallowed and nodded, starting to feel guilty at having made such a scene. However, his father's last words had piqued some small curiosity in the back of his mind; much like an itch he wasn't allowed to scratch. After bidding his son a good night and telling him they would go to Diagon Alley for his wand first thing tomorrow, James left the room, extinguishing the light with a flick of his wand and Harry settled down to sleep.

* * *

After an hour of turning on himself in his bed, Harry realised the itch in the back of his head was in good need of a scratch. So he got out of bed, and crept onto the landing, stopping dead when he heard sounds of a quiet sobbing from his mother, and his father's attempts at soothing her. He sat down on the stairs and listened as hard as he could.

"I c-can't help it, James." Lily spluttered, sobs wrenching through her as she spoke. "Every time I see that b-b-blasted scar on the p-poor boy's forehead, I c-c-can't help but think that it could have b-b-been Harry with no p-p-parents and a great c-c-c-cut on his head. If Albus hadn't b-been secret-k-keeper, had we listened to S-S-Sirius and gone to P-Peter about it-"

"We had no way of knowing about Peter's betrayal, Lils." James reassured her, softly but firmly. "Sirius thought that using himself as a decoy and making Peter the real secret-keeper would protect us rather than condemn us. Besides, he paid for it in the end…" these words had a venom to them that Harry had rarely heard in his Dad's voice, "Neville may have lost his parents, and his grandmother, but it's not like he doesn't have anyone: Algie may be a little bit odd, but he loves the boy and he is family."

"This is all because of that bloody prophecy!" Lily's grumbled as he voice turned from sad to almost angry, "None of this would have happened if not for that woman's foresight!" she spat out the last words with unmistakable mirth.

"If none of this had happened, the war would still be going on, Lils." Her husband reasoned, "And who knows what we would have lost then. We may all be dead and Voldemort in power!"

* * *

Harry couldn't help but let out an audible gasp at hearing You-Know-Who's name from his father's mouth and he knew straight away it was a mistake, for his father appeared at the foot of the stairs, a hard look on his face. He didn't say a word, but Harry knew without a doubt he was to go straight to bed, so he obliged. Lying back down, his head reeled from what he had just heard. You-Know-Who had come after him and his family and one of Dad's best friends was a traitor. Neville and Harry were concerned by a prophecy, whatever that was, and it was why Neville had that scar and had survived. Harry decided to think no more of it, for he knew his curiosity would just grow and that he would get no answers from his parents. Yet.

**End of chapter 1**


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